Before Budapest
by Agents Are Us
Summary: "He made a different call"- Natasha Romanoff. Three months later, three months after Clint spares her life, Natasha is on thin ice at SHIELD. Clint decides to take her away for a while. WARNING: Mentions of infertility. Two-shot. Pre-Avengers. Fluffy. COMPLETE
1. Part 1: The Farm

**Two-shot set pre-Avengers. Centers on Natasha and Clint. Brief Laura and some Coulson in second chapter.**

 **Tell me what you think (:**

* * *

Natasha Romanoff had no idea what game Clint was playing. Which was odd. She usually did know, even though they had only been partners for a little under three months. Not knowing was unusual and alarming and just _wrong_.

Clint was the one driving. Like always. And, like always, he knew exactly what was going on. Fury trusted Coulson (as much as Fury trusted anyone) and Coulson trusted Clint. But Coulson did _not_ trust Romanoff.

Which was a good move, on his part. Three months ago SHIELD wanted her dead. They probably still did. She was an assassin. A _Russian_ assassin at that. It didn't get much more untrustworthy.

Unless you added the words Red Room, KGB and Black Widow into the mix.

To be honest, it was a fluke she was even alive. Clint had been sent to kill her, and he decided not to on a whim. If it had been anyone else… her body would currently be occupying an unmarked grave at best.

"What are you thinking?" Clint asks her. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the window. The dirt road is deserted apart from them, bordered by fields and trees. Natasha is not sure what state they are in, but it is farm country.

She looks out the window, thinking over her answer for a second too long. Natasha can tell because he sighs, looking away from her and towards the road again. "Where we're going."

"You'll see." His generic response for any question she asked about their missions. Barton turns on the radio to fill the silence.

Romanoff nods, going back to the window. So much green and brown. Nature. She was used to white and red. White snow stained red with blood. Pools and buckets and ledgers filled with red. "Does it snow here?" Wherever here is.

"Sometimes in the winter we get a couple of inches."

This confuses Natasha. "We?"

Clint looks at her. They are approaching a ranch-style house with a small farm. It's almost dark. "I live here. With my family."

* * *

"Clint!" a very pretty, very pregnant woman runs to great him. She throws her arms around his neck. Barton's face lights up and he embraces her. Natasha stands by the car, looking around and trying to figure out why she is here. "And this must be Natasha," Barton's girlfriend or wife turns around to her, still smiling for some reason.

Natasha decides on the serious "Um… yes Mrs. Barton."

"Call me Laura." Maybe it was the pregnancy pumping happy into her brain. "Clint's told me all about you."

Natasha raises her eyebrows at Clint over a surprisingly strong hug. "He has?"

"Of course! Come inside, I cooked dinner."

* * *

"So, you're married?" Natasha asks between breaths. Barton _would_ have a training room in the basement of his secret farm with his secret wife and secret unborn child.

Clint pauses for a moment and Romanoff takes the opportunity to take him down. "Yes," he gets out when Natasha removes her arm from his neck.

"What did you tell her about me?" Natasha helps him up.

"Just that you're my partner. And Russian. And that I was sent to kill you and decided not to."

Nat looks up sharply. "Well, she's oddly forgiving."

"Love of my life." Romanoff cannot believe he is saying that with a straight face. But, then again, she oddly can. Apparently, she has always known Clint is a family man.

They spar a couple times more before Barton gives up. Without his bow and arrow, she had the upper hand.

"Why did you bring me here?" Natasha asks next. It's the question that's been bugging her ever since she found out this was not a mission.

Clint pauses before answering. "It's not safe for you to be at SHIELD without me yet. Fury-"

"-wants me dead. It's not a secret. What I want to know is why _you_ care. Why couldn't you just do your job and kill me?"

"Nat, we've been through this. You're better than that."

Romanoff just shakes her head, turning to a punching bag and starting to hit it fiercely. She does not have to remind him of her ledger, and why she will always be in the red.

"One day, you could have a house like this. A family."

This comment is like a blow to the heart. And she knows what that feels like. "No, I can't."

"Look, I'm not saying any time soon, but-"

"Never. I can never have kids."

"I felt that way too. But then I met Laura-"

"Clint, I physically can't."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Natasha goes back to punching the bag, this time a little harder. "Yeah," she repeats softly.

* * *

They've been at the farm for three days when Natasha asks her next question. "How long is this visit?" She and Clint are back in the car, driving into town to buy tools for his next project.

"A week after the baby's born."

"When's she due?"

"Nat, we don't have to talk about this."

"I want to. When's she due?"

"A couple days. Coulson made sure to get me here early."

"He's a nice guy. Likes Captain America a little too much, but a solid agent."

"Yeah. You know he has these collectable trading cards an-" Clint lets his voice trail off as a certain agent walks into a dinner. "Does he ever wear anything other than that damn suit?"

"Not that I've seen, but you've known him longer," Romanoff responds suspiciously. She fingers the safety on her gun.

"You won't need that," Barton assures her. He parks outside the entrance and they walk inside together.


	2. Part 2: The Family

Coulson is seated at a table by the window, in clear view of the street. Barton slides into the booth first, Nat sitting next to him. "I heard the pancakes here are amazing," the agent says conversationally.

Natasha surveys the dinner. Theirs is the only occupied table. "Never been a breakfast person myself." At least no agents could be impersonating patrons.

"And I'm more of an eggs and bacon guy," Clint adds.

Coulson shrugs, folding his menu on the table. The waitress comes over, getting her and Clint coffee. The male agents order. Natasha sips from her cup. The minutes pass in silence.

Out of the window, Natasha spots a young mother walking into the grocery store with her son in tow. They're smiling, and the woman twists her ring around a finger. Nervous tic? Next to them is a man. A man without a ring. He walks up to the woman and they kiss.

The kid looks nothing like the man.

"I'll assume you know why I'm here." Coulson cuts into his pancakes after pouring an unparalleled amount of syrup onto them. It makes Natasha feel slightly sick, all the sweetness. She can smell it from across the table, mixing with the sent from Clint's eggs and overpowering even the coffee.

"You assume wrong," Romanoff informs him, sitting up a little straighter. Time to get back to business, then.

Coulson swallows a mouthful of pancake. "We need to talk about your future at SHIELD, Miss. Romanoff." He draws out the Miss, as if to remind her that she is not an agent.

"You mean to say that I have one?" Natasha asks after a long pause. "The fact that you are here, talking to instead of executing. You're going to offer me a job."

"Just confirming the position," Coulson says easily.

"So that's what you're calling it now?" Barton asks. He seems on edge all of the sudden.

Natasha wonders what is actually going on. "How does this job differ from what I've already been doing?"

"It comes with an ID. You'll start with Level 1 clearance." He slides a card over to Romanoff.

She inspects it carefully. Her last name was spelled with two F's instead of a VA. She liked it. "What level are you two?"

Coulson does not answer, but Clint taps on the table six times, looking out the window.

* * *

Cooper Barton was born the next day, in a windowless room in the town's small hospital.

Natasha sat in the waiting room. She sat in a white plastic chair that hurt to sit in but she kept on sitting because that's what American's did. They sat and they waited.

We. Was it we now? Natasha wasn't exactly sure. She wasn't anywhere near it, actually. She was Russian by birth, by blood. Natalia Romanova.

But what about Natasha Romanoff?

It didn't matter, not really. There were more important things.

Clint was in the room, until now. He came out and waved Natasha foreword.

It took her limbs a couple seconds to comply, but somehow she ended up holding the little tyke.

It's... an interesting experience.

* * *

A couple days later, Natasha and Clint head back into town, this time for feed. "I was thinking of redoing the upstairs bathroom."

"That would be nice. Maybe blue?"

"Yeah. The beige is just depressing. And it needs updating. Make it more kid-friendly."

"Laura would like that. Don't know if you have time, though. Coulson's back."

Clint sighs, pulling up outside the dinner. "I'm never going to get to enjoy a vacation, am I?"

* * *

Coulson has not sat down. "We need you back at SHIELD. Now."

"We have four more days, Coulson."

"The timeline has been moved up. A high-profile op just came in."

"Send someone else."

"We did. No word for forty-eight hours."

Clint nods, sighing. "Where?"

"Budapest."


End file.
